


Package For You

by MadamRed, venom_for_free



Series: Fantaesy [8]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Background Relationships, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, Fluff and Smut, Friendship/Love, Happy Ending, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Nude Photos, One Shot, POV Alternating, Post-Canon, Relationship(s), Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Sex, Sexual Tension, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 11:07:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30121818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadamRed/pseuds/MadamRed, https://archiveofourown.org/users/venom_for_free/pseuds/venom_for_free
Summary: Some mistakes are tragic. Others, luckily, lead to better things. This one, though ... This one is still up for debate. Yuri experiences the overwhelming, mortifying dread of having posted something where he definitely shouldn't have when he realizes he accidentally texted Beka a nude instead of a motivational cat meme. Somehow … things still work out?Or, Yuri accidentally sends Otabek a suggestive picture, gets one in return, and it all goes down (or up?) from there.
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Series: Fantaesy [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848073
Comments: 29
Kudos: 105





	Package For You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Taedae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taedae/gifts).



> Fellas, is it gay to accidentally send a nude to your best friend/crush and getting aroused when you get one back? And then somehow it turns into this whole thing neither of you wants to mention, ever? Asking for a friend.
> 
> Happy March, Tae! Venom and MadamRed decided to join forces this time around since you've been editing so much for the two of us lately! Love you lots and we're both forever grateful for all your help! 💕

_"Fuck."_

Otabek doesn't usually curse. Similar to a PG-13 movie, he tends to use the f-word strategically, saves it, so it has the most impact. On the rare occasions when it _does_ happen, though, it usually comes out with a lot of feeling. Like now, when he opens an unsolicited picture of his best friend's naked torso. Out of nowhere. No connection to their previous conversation about music and their summer plans.

 _What. The. Fuck?_ There goes the rating. Good thing he isn't a screenwriter.

But back to the matter at hand … Is there enough skin, enough intention, for this to be considered a nude? Otabek rubs his tired eyes and adjusts his glasses. He needs to analyze the situation before making a decision guided by hormones. From the position and the dark gray sheets underneath him, it would appear Yuri took this picture in his room. This isn't a mirror selfie at the gym or an accidental, blurry snap in the locker room. No. Yuri purposefully lay half-naked in his bed, sweatpants (no underwear?) riding low enough (for Otabek?) to appreciate that mouth-watering V-line before taking the picture.

That's it, right? Otabek has his answer. This isn't random. Yuri's just sent him a nude. Fantastic. But … is he supposed to send one back?

Clearing his throat, he takes off his glasses, then his shirt and mimics Yuri's position on the bed. Because, sure, he has some other pictures on his phone he _could_ use, but it seems Yuri took his recently, if not right now, so it would be rude to send an old one, right? Also, the soft lighting from his lamp adds a certain artistic element; Otabek didn't quality-proof JJ's horrific nudes back in Canada before the man sent them to Isabella to not use the knowledge now, thank you very much.

With a goal in mind, he snaps a few pictures. None of them are good enough, but in the end, he settles for one where he has an arm underneath his head, accentuating the muscles of his chest, the temple tip of his glasses caught between his lips. There's the slightest hint of a smile on his face. Objectively, he would rate it 7.5/10. There's always room for improvement.

After debating with himself about the pros and cons of what he's about to do, Otabek sends the picture. And waits.

* * *

Yuri is having a good day. A normal day. A calm, normal, good day, even though Otabek takes quite a fucking while to react to the cat picture he sent. Which Yuri knows because he's on the floor doing his stretches. On days when he's really, _really_ lazy, he uses the time between messages to work out a bit, but … he's been down here for a while, and at this point, it's starting to be weird. Why does Beka not reply? 

He decides to wait it out just a few minutes longer, just until he stretches every part of his body from his fingertips to his toes, when _fucking finally_ his phone chimes. 

Beka's ringtone. Of course he has his own. Yuri reaches for his mobile to check the message but immediately drops the device. What the fuck? _What the fuck_? 

That's … he bends over and picks up the little thing, luckily unbroken, and presses the screen until he can lay eyes on that … _that_. 

A chiseled torso putting greek gods to shame, a strong jaw nibbling sinfully on those reading glasses, and muscular arms able to choke a fucking dinosaur … all go unnoticed. Because Beka—yes, this is actually Beka, his Beka, his Otabek Altin, Yuri's best friend—is wearing gray sweatpants. Oh _god._ Why doesn't he just send a video of himself jerking it? The difference would be minimal. 

At least Yuri knows now what to expect when he finally manages to convince Beka to do the bees and flowers thing. Oh boy. Yuri's poor flower. There's just one thing confusing him. Why did Beka send him a nude at all? Is this a nude? It's just his upper body. So not a nude. That should be fine, right? Should Yuri text a picture back? Maybe Otabek is just relaxing in a strangely artistic way? But … huh. It's weird. 

Yuri opens the chat regardless, not at all to check out the picture, not at all to look at the details. But what he finds mortifies him. There's a second picture. Not a cat one. Nothing motivational. It's … a picture. From Yuri. Half-naked. And he sent it. How the _fuck_ did he end up sending that when all he wanted to do was share a fun thought? 

Yeah. He took those pictures. Maybe to feel better about himself, so what? And yes, maybe he also tried to make it a little sexy. He had a bad day at the start of the week, and Lilia told him to work on his sensuality, so it _made sense_. 

But why did he send it?! And what the fuck is he supposed to do about it now? Because no matter how ridiculous this is, how strange, how impossible … it happened. And now Yuri has to face the consequences. 

Should he … text Beka it was a misunderstanding? No, right? Not after Otabek replied in kind. That would be rude. And very unappreciative of the gift his best friend bestowed on him. Okay, so … what other options does he have? He could, technically, ask Mila for help. But once Yuri's eyes wander to the screen again, to the _sweatpants_ , he knows. There's no way he will share this. It's his dirty secret now. His Otabek. Even though they aren't dating and it's all just a misunderstanding. Even though it makes no sense. 

For some reason, this is special. So Yuri texts back another selfie. He plans to send a snap of his face, winking into the camera, but it feels too … tame. Compared to what already happened. So he takes his shirt off. That's better. Now it has the same vibe as … _the rest._

Click. Snap. Send. 

Don't think too much about it. It's weird. Very weird. But it's also … exciting. A tiny grin dances over his lips. And if Yuri's hand slips beneath his pants? No one will know except him. 

* * *

It's been two weeks. Two fucking weeks. Everything is different but … not entirely?

First, the whole PG-13 f-word restriction? Yeah, not a thing anymore. Otabek now curses about two to three times a day. Sometimes he mumbles the word softly in the solitude of his bedroom, sometimes he mentally screams it. Because the situation has escalated. _Quickly._

Which leads him to the second big change. The pictures have become borderline sexual. They are standing at the threshold, about to cross over and fall down a cliff with no way to get back up. Well, there are _many_ ways to get back up but— _No!_ Otabek's mind is constantly in the gutter nowadays. Third change.

The one thing that _hasn't_ fallen apart, though? Their friendship. It's still … intact? They talk normally, interact on social media, tweet, send each other cat memes. The usual. They even video chat. But the pictures never come up. Are they _both_ waiting for the other to mention them first? Neither makes any comments, though.

And yet, they are still sending them! Almost daily now. Instead of a normal good morning text, Otabek sends Yuri blurry mirror selfies from his bathroom after his shower. And Yuri ... his brilliant, gorgeous, wild Yuri, fights fire with fire. He's come so far from those first tentative pictures. His best friend has nearly perfected the art of _'showing not telling'._

There are outlines while wearing sweatpants ... back shots of leggings that leave nothing to the imagination ... powerful legs that shouldn't be allowed to look so artistic and deliciously sinful at the same time as they bend and stretch in impossible ways. There is also a tense arm that sometimes appears in the frame, but the hand attached to it mysteriously disappears at the bottom. 

It drives Otabek insane. In the best way.

His phone chimes. Yuri's ringtone. He didn't use to have one but now … Otabek opens the message, licking his lips as he gets comfortable on the bed.

What has his life come to? 

* * *

Yuri stares at the ceiling, then at his phone, then at the ceiling again. God damn it. Otabek recently sent him a picture and it's hotter than it has any right to be. They all are. And the worst thing is … the man seems to lack any understanding of how hot he is. How fucking perfect. And the borderline sexuality of their interactions doesn't help. Especially not with everything else being just … normal. 

He wishes there was a better word for it but all their other interactions are just the same way they used to be. Except they now sent naughty pics. But only borderline naughty. So much better. It's the considerate thing to do. When you get hot nudes, you send some back. It's not that hard. And Yuri even learned a few things! For example, you can choke on water when you open a message while drinking. Or that Otabek owns a fishnet shirt. Or that Beka looks so smoking hot in it that Yuri's answer was … delayed. And contained a lot of flushed cheeks and wild hair.

Even now, just thinking about it gets him hard. Time to make Otabek just as breathless. Yuri wraps his hand around his shaft, the layers of skin only separated by thin leggings. He presses his hard dick against his leg in the clearest outline he's ever offered. Basically his entire fucking cock, just … not in flesh colors.

Once he hits sent, Yuri blinks. Are they boyfriends? He doesn't fucking know. Is this more? Is it less than what he thinks? It's all so confusing! He should probably talk to Beka, but—ah. There's the _ding_ from his phone. 

The second he opens his message and aggressively peels down the leggings, Yuri forgets any other questions. 

* * *

Otabek bounces his leg. He's sitting on the edge of the bed in his hotel room, dressed in dark, skinny jeans and a fitted, button-down shirt. Yuri is supposed to pick him up any minute now to go have a celebratory dinner with Katsuki and his now full-time coach and husband, Viktor, since they all medaled at Worlds. Otabek 'only' got bronze, but he's happy. It's still a huge accomplishment for him and his country. One day, he'll be able to surpass his best frie—boyfriend? Long-distance fuck buddies who don't actually fuck? What even are they now?

It's been a few months since _The Incident._ And the pictures they send … Just thinking about them makes Otabek heat up. There is a somewhat unspoken rule that while they are competing, neither sends anything other than encouraging messages. Too much of a distraction. But the second the last press conference is over? They immediately go back to their little dance.

So, in hindsight, he should've seen it coming, honestly. They hung out during the week before Worlds and, on the surface, their interactions could pass as normal. But there was … not tension, but electricity crackling in the air around them. Lingering gazes, hugs that lasted a little too long, hands that drifted too low to be considered friendly. Some people gave them looks, but they either ignored them or laughed off their questions.

Until that afternoon when the whole dam broke.

Otabek had just gotten back to his hotel room after all the boring but necessary interviews and meetings when his phone chimed once … twice … _three_ times in a row. He left everything he was carrying at the foot of the bed and sat down on the very place he was now, almost dropping his phone in his haste to get to the messages.

There, on screen, was a series of pictures. Yuri in just a bathrobe, hair high up in a bun, only half of his face in the shot, a finger smearing the remnants of his lipstick. Yuri's bare legs and the robe on the floor in a bathroom eerily similar to the one in Otabek's suite, steam rising from the tub in the background. Yuri, sitting on the edge of the tub, his arched back to the mirror he used to help him take the picture. Otabek's eyes travelled down the expanse of that back, drinking in the almost flawless skin—not even Yuri Plisetsky could escape bruises during training, it seemed. It was the dip of his back, though, that finally fried Otabek's brain.

If he focused enough, he could almost imagine what it would be like to have his hands wrap around that waist, thumbs digging into those back dimples, as he pushed inside Yuri.

With that scenario in mind, he didn't last very long. Which meant the usual pang of guilt associated with jerking off to pictures of his best friend also reared its ugly head earlier than expected. The ideas were— _are_ —filthy. Not something one should think about their best friend, right? At this point, though, they are both sending explicit pictures. The purpose … What they do with them is clear, right?

They should probably talk about this.

A knock on the door brings him back to the here and now.

Swallowing his worries, he opens the door and smiles at Yuri, hoping his usually stoic facade is enough to cover up how jittery he actually is.

* * *

There he is. Fuck, Beka looks so cool. He must be fresh out of the shower as well, there's still droplets in his hair and Yuri would do anything, _anything,_ to brush it back and comb the water out. But between them is still the unspoken question.

Are they? Aren't they? Is this? Isn't it?

Yuri steps into the hotel room and, without much preamble, stalks to the bed. He falls back onto it and smirks up at his best friend. "We should leave." They really should. The celebratory dinner.

But what _if_. What if Otabek wants to stay here with him? Have his way with Yuri, bend him over the bed or a chair or a table, he's not picky, thank you very much. Of course even if they are dating—are they dating?—Otabek is too much of a gentleman to toss him around. But Yuri can dream.

Beka nods, tells him they should go, have to, because of Viktor and Yuri. And yeah, he's right. But that doesn't stop the little tendrils of disappointment from curling in Yuri's guts. God. This has been going on for too long. They have to talk. Are they boyfriends? Because if yes, Yuri wants to ride that damn dick like a racehorse. It's his innermost need.

But despite his words, Beka hesitates. Watches Yuri stretching like a snake over the sheets. He's doing his best here, okay? Someone's gotta charm his boy. They don't get the chance to make terrible decisions, though. After a moment, rapping on the door startles them both. God damn. As if Viktor and Katsudon aren't an annoyance on a good day. Fuck them.

He jumps up and stalks to the door, but while he walks past, Yuri trails his fingers over Otabek's abs. There. Maybe that's enough of a sign.

* * *

Dinner is awkward as hell. Otabek keeps fidgeting with his hands and his glass while they wait for their courses. Then, when the starters arrive, he wiggles in his chair.

"Otabek," Katsuki calls his name for what is probably the tenth time in the last half an hour, and, so far, the conversation hasn't even been about him. "Sorry but, are you okay?"

It takes all of Otabek's energy not to start screaming in frustration in the middle of the posh restaurant Viktor chose. He smiles, but even he knows it's forced. "Yes, sorry."

Across from him, Katsuki doesn't look convinced but he doesn't push for an explanation either. Sometimes being a bit more reserved has its perks. And thankfully, the chatterbox that is Viktor Nikiforov fills in the silence immediately, praising his husband and draping his arms around him. Katsuki tries to fight him off, but everyone at their small private table knows he doesn't actually mind.

Otabek glances to the side, at the little devil who's the cause of all this. Yuri is simply enjoying his seared scallops. Unsurprisingly, the moment Viktor said they shouldn't worry about prices, Yuri's eyes went to the most expensive items on the menu.

But that isn't the issue. Nope. The problem is Yuri's sitting next to him at a rather small-ish table, and his right hand keeps wandering, fingers trailing all the way from Otabek's knee to the inside of his thigh, squeezing and pinching every once in a while. The touch is both feather-light and scorching at the same time. Yet Yuri's face betrays nothing, and the married couple has no idea this is even happening. Just that Otabek can't sit still and keeps interrupting their conversation with barely-repressed squeaks. 

His skinny jeans seemed like such a good idea when he got dressed … Now he doesn't know how the fuck he's going to get up and explain the hard-on he's sporting.

* * *

This is good. Yuri decides to take everything happening right now as a good sign. Beka is quite … receptive to his touch, so Yuri continues. Well, and because he doesn't meet any complaints. Will Beka touch him, too? Maybe not here at the table. But later on? Possibly? Hopefully?

They are boyfriends now. Right? They … god. Are they? It's an eternal question for Yuri, but at this point, he decides to operate in his favor and simply assumes this is what they are until he's informed of a different scenario. This also means, maybe, potentially, perhaps, he could introduce the idea of a shared hotel bed. Because Yuri really, really wants to share the hotel bed. It's big enough for both of them, and even if it weren't, he would make it work. Namely by sleeping on top of Otabek. Urgh. Fuck, he is so lost, so gone, so … well. Let's just say more than his mind is in the gutter at this point. 

Which is also why Yuri no longer fears stroking his friend's knee under the table. It's simply what he deserves. What they both deserve after months of teasing and hoping and yearning and yeah, also touching. At least on Yuri's part. Of course he doesn't know if Beka is as lost as he is. But with the way he keeps wiggling in his seat … chances are it's a yes. 

Fuck it. Yuri will be brave and see what happens. Maybe this will ruin everything, but probably not, and after all those months, it's time to make a clear statement. So he excuses himself and goes to the toilet stalls. Once he is locked in, he pulls out his phone and navigates to his locked folder of shame. Yes. He kept them all. No, it was probably not the right thing to do. But— _but—_ deleting semi and full nudes of Otabek fuckin Altin is probably a crime in most countries of the world, or at least those governed by someone with a brain, so he really just tried to stay on the side of the law here. 

Pants down, dick out. Yuri's hand curls around himself. It doesn't need much to get him hard, it never does, not with the archive of sin beneath his thumb. When Beka sent him the first actual nude—like, full nude—Yuri more or less died, ascended, lived a happy life among the stars, was reborn in a meteor and entered his body once more upon impact. That's the best explanation he has for the feeling of utter shock and amazement, at least. 

Beka is … a lot. He might be short, but that only seems to apply to his legs. Because holy fuck, Yuri has no idea how he manages to pack all that into a skating costume. From then on, there was no going back. Frontal nudes. Grabby nudes. At some point, and with a bit of vodka in his system, Yuri pondered sending him a picture of his hole but then told himself it might be going a little _too_ far. After all, they haven't even kissed. But now he ponders the idea again. The only thing holding him back is the undeniable knowledge that it will look like ratshit if he takes it in here with the terrible restaurant bathroom lighting. So instead, he keeps it classy. His gorged dick, hard and ready. It's not the best photo, but it will do the trick. 

For a moment, Yuri considers jerking it to get rid of the boner he gave himself, but the time frame would be suspicious, and urgh, no. So he walks out and washes his hand, dick tucked awkwardly into his waistband and hidden under the edge of his hoodie. He waits until he's seated next to Otabek again so he can enjoy the full spectacle before Yuri pulls out his phone and sends the newest message. 

* * *

It's when Yuri excuses himself to use the restroom that Otabek is able to breathe and engage in the conversation Viktor and Katsuki are having about whether they should stay in St. Petersburg or move to Hasetsu. He needs to clear his head and, even though he couldn't care less about their future plans, it's a good enough distraction. He really doesn't want to go through another awkward situation tonight. Because as much as he trusts Katsuki to be discreet, Otabek knows the same can't be said about Viktor _'share everything on social media'_ Nikiforov.

Thankfully, the conversation changes to Otabek and his family, and his mind finally escapes from the gutter. Blood starts circulating again and away from problematic areas. Though the relief is short-lived.

Yuri returns to the table without a word and starts fiddling with his phone while the server comes to take away their plates in preparation for their main courses. And Otabek … gullible, innocent Otabek, thinks he's in the clear when Yuri's hand doesn't return to his body. There's a bit of disappointment tainting his thoughts, but he knows this isn't the place or the time to explore this apparently 'new' facet of their relationship.

Their food arrives, and Otabek is about to thank the server when his phone chimes—Yuri's ringtone. Shit. "Ah, sorry, forgot to silence it." Yuri's eyes are on him. Otabek doesn't even need to look. He tries to swipe the notification away but, instead, he opens it by accident. "Oh, _fuck_."

"Otabek?" Viktor. Cautious.

"Is everything okay?" Katsuki. He's concerned.

"Beka?" But Yuri … Yuri can't even hide how smug he is.

Otabek closes the lewd picture and turns his head towards the married couple. "Sorry, got an unexpected text, but it's all good."

Viktor tilts his head, his sharp eyes shifting from Otabek to Yuri to Otabek again. "Are you sure? I don't think I've ever heard you curse before."

"Yes, nothing to worry about." He smiles and makes a gesture towards the food. "Please, don't let me delay our dinner."

They start eating and, soon enough, the conversation flows easily again, their meals being the center of attention. Otabek talks about the fish he ordered, Katsuki praises his ravioli and feeds Viktor, making Yuri gag … It's a normal evening.

Until Otabek takes his phone out of his pocket. He keeps it under the table while his companions are distracted—Yuri is throwing half-assed insults at Viktor, who is giving his husband a bite of his own dish, something French Otabek doesn't bother remembering.

He has to hide the shit-eating grin behind his glass when Yuri chokes on his own spit.

* * *

_"Yura—"_

What the fuck? WHAT. THE. FUCK? Yuri turns his head to the side, staring wide eyed at his best friend. Before he can say anything, Viktor perks up. "Was that a moan?! Did someone just … moan your name? Otabek?"

Otabek is deep red, blushing so hard even his darker complexion can't hide shit. Did he even know what he sent? Was he aware there's audio with the tiny clip?

How dare he? How dare Otabek Altin have a video of himself masturbating at the ready? And even worse—moaning Yuri's name? At least he looks properly mortified.

Katsudon frowns at them both still, but Yuri struggles to care. He has places to be, things to do, tasks to take on. Namely, get that cock out of the ridiculous confines and into his mouth instead. He wants to choke on it, needs to.

But Viktor is still looking at them both, eyes small with suspicion. "That was a moaned name. What exactly are you guys sending each other?"

"It's a video," Otabek admits, head in his hands. Oh god, he won't, right? He won't fucking tell the fairy odd parents about the game they've been playing for months? About their relationship or the lack of, depending at what time of the day you ask? "I jumped. I fell. I hurt my knee. My coach caught it on camera. That's what I texted Yuri. Because I just remembered it exists." 

Beka is a better liar than Yuri would have thought. Katsuki seems to buy it; he nods and returns to his tea. But Viktor … Viktor is still doing the squinty-eye thing. "A jump."

"Yeah."

"Can I see?"

"No!" Yuri presses his phone to his chest, mortified to expose his … _his_ … like this. "It's embarrassing and it's for me only!"

"I'm a coach. I might be able to help." Is Viktor fucking with them or is this the most terribly timed case of misguided desire to help in the history of people?

Otabek shakes his head and, god fucking bless, it's Katsudon who saves them. "Vitya. If he doesn't want to share, he doesn't have to. Don't pressure him." He sounds kind of sleepy. Did someone slip him sake? Would explain the clinginess with which he's currently dragging on Viktor's sleeve. A giant baby.

Yuri glances over, but Otabek conveniently doesn't look him in the eyes. Well, maybe sending porn with audio in the middle of a restaurant wasn't his best idea. But fuck, it's hot. The clip is tiny. Just a few seconds, displayed on loop. Yuri can rewatch whenever he likes. And listen. God knows what else is in there. But for now …

For now he leans back and accepts the 'defeat'. Not much longer, and they go to the hotel. And then. _Then_.

He just has to be good for a liiiiittle longer.

* * *

Neither of them orders dessert, despite Viktor's insistence. The strict diet excuse could've worked if Yuri's sound hadn't been on. But it's done. Now they have to awkwardly sit through Viktor and Katsuki feeding each other chocolate mousse and ice cream. Otabek has never in his life wanted to run from a restaurant as much as tonight, and that's saying something with the many almost-ruined dinners he witnessed back in Canada.

Otabek shakes his head to rid himself of the memories and catches sight of Yuri finally rising from the table. "I'm going to go to the bathroom, and when I come back, I hope the bill is paid and everyone's ready to leave, okay?" He makes a point of making eye contact with the couple across the table and turns without another word.

When Yuri comes back five minutes later, the server is bringing Viktor's credit card back along with the receipt, and then their small party of four is standing outside the restaurant as they fix their coats and scarves.

Just a little longer and then they'll—

"Anyone up for a walk?" Katsuki suggests, burrowing further under Viktor's arm around his shoulder. They look so comfortable and happy with each other. Otabek's hands are itching to reach for his best friend, too.

"Had enough of you two and your disgusting shenanigans during dinner. I'd rather spend my evening in peace, thanks," Yuri practically growls without missing a beat and grabs Otabek's wrist, pulling him to the curb. "Beka, come on, let's take a taxi."

And what else can he do? He's weak. He'll do anything Yuri says. So he nods and calls out a quick _'thank you for dinner'_ back as Yuri is yanking him inside the first car that stops. He isn't sure why, but the look Viktor gives them makes him squirm in his seat. It spells trouble.

But then Yuri is telling the driver the name of their hotel before his legs are on Otabek's lap and a delicate hand is turning his head. A hot, searing mouth claims his own. And Otabek is gone.

* * *

Yuri is a good man. Most of the time. But sometimes he snaps and right now is one of them because _fuck it_ , Otabek was right next to him the entire time and he's still there and Otabek is his rock anyway and, fuck it, why not, Yuri just saw a video of his best friend jerking it to him. Otabek moaned his name after all. So fuck this and fuck everything else. Yuri decided he's done with playing this whole ass stupid game a while ago and this is the perfect chance to just _do it._

So he climbs half on top of Otabek and ignores the driver clearing his throat. Japan isn't excited about public displays of affection and kissing your _friend_ senseless in the back of a car is definitely frowned upon, but Yuri never really cared much about the public opinion. So Otabek's lap is where he's at and where he will stay unless either Beka wants him gone or they reach the hotel and get to do this with even less barriers between them.

Because honestly? By now it's clear. They will bang. No second-guessing, no wondering, no trial and error fumbling. They will fuck and it will be good and Yuri can't wait. At some point during the ride he realizes he should probably verbalize that decision, so he curls forward, bites Otabek's ear, and whispers all the naughty things he's planned for so goddamn long.

And Beka, sweet Beka? Gasps. As if he's scandalized. As if he can't believe what comes out of Yuri's mouth. The same man who sent him a video of his fucking pole of a dick being stroked during dinner. The same guy who's at fault for Yuri's right upper arm being slightly more swollen than his left, even with extra training involved. The same dude who's erection is pictured in over a dozen photos Yuri hoards on his phone like a possessive dragon. He gasps.

Which means it's an invitation in every way Yuri can picture. So he keeps talking dirty, tells Beka what he wants him to do, where, and how, in no uncertain terms. It's a good thing they speak Russian with each other or the driver would have kicked them out by now for sure.

Only when they pay, get out of the car, and up all the stairs to Otabek's room—they had to take the stairs, neither wanted to wait for the elevator—does Yuri fully understand, this is it. 

He grabs Otabek's collar and pulls him in, kissing, tasting, holding him. They fall onto the bed and fuck, things couldn't be more perfect. Or they can. And Yuri and Beka are about to go there. 

* * *

_"Yura—"_

Otabek is trapped under Yuri's body, something he pictured time and time again, but it didn't compare to the solid weight of his favorite person on top of him. Despite how many times he imagined this happening, his hands fumble, get lost in Yuri's hair, underneath his hoodie and the back of his jeans. Why are they even wearing layers still?

Sitting up, Otabek tries to slow down their kiss to start unraveling the mysteries of the creature perched on his lap. But the sensations overwhelm him, the possibility of doing all the filthy things Yuri whispered into his ear makes him light-headed. Maybe he needs oxygen, but that's secondary. Still, he tries again. "Yura."

This time, it works. Yuri lets go of his lips but doesn't stray very far, as if he doesn't want to burst the bubble they've created. "Beka, do you have any idea what you do to me?"

Oxygen does help, Otabek surmises. Ideas spring to his mind. He could make this sappy, as thick and sweet as molasses. But this is his Yuri. He smirks. "I think I got the picture."

It takes a second, but when it clicks, Yuri hides his face against Otabek's neck. "You fucking idiot." His silly joke worked at least. As desperate as Otabek is after months of teasing, he wants to enjoy Yuri.

" _Your_ idiot." Otabek chuckles and kisses Yuri's cheek. So, okay, maybe he _does_ want to be sappy, too. Yuri moves back and … is he blushing? Adorable. Otabek kisses his other cheek, the corner of his mouth, his jaw, and takes his time savoring the delicious expanse of Yuri's neck until he's nibbling his earlobe. "What should we do, by the way?"

There's a gasp against the skin of his neck, and then Yuri's mouth is on his, as intoxicating as before. Yuri pushes him back until Otabek is sprawled on the bed. He speaks in between kisses and bites. "Anything, everything. I don't care as long as I can feel you inside me."

"Fuck." Somehow, Yuri's favorite curse was now Otabek's default reaction when it came to the blond. "Are you sure?"

Yuri plants his hands on either side of Otabek's head to look him in the eye. His long-ish hair frames his face perfectly. It strikes Otabek then just how utterly gorgeous Yuri is; he has to bite his own tongue not to let those words out. "Beka, I've been sure since I saw the outline of your cock in those gray sweatpants."

Which was _months_ ago. "Shit, okay." Because, really? How can he argue? He's been as thirsty as Yuri, it seems.

They make quick work of their clothes, throwing them somewhere on the floor. Otabek will worry about that later, now his mind is only occupied by the practically flawless skin he saw in those pictures earlier.

While Yuri is climbing up the bed in nothing but his boxers, Otabek grabs the bottle of lube and condoms he packed last-minute before leaving his apartment in Almaty. He's glad his past self thought of it. When he turns back, Yuri is simply lying there, waiting for him.

This is it. It's actually going to happen.

With his heart in his throat, Otabek walks to the bed and, after leaving the items on the nightstand, he traps Yuri's body with his own. They kiss deeply, hands roaming for the first time, skin against skin. "Gorgeous." The word comes out, he can't stop it. Otabek would've been embarrassed with somebody else, but … Yuri smiles, a spark in his eyes.

"Breathtaking."

Alright. Two could play this game. "Stunning."

"Irresistible."

"Captivating."

"Alluring." Otabek snorts, Yuri chuckles, and soon they are both laughing. "How long did that take? Half an hour and we're already as bad as Katsudon and Viktor."

"I—" Otabek hesitates. Should he confess this here, now? How much he craves to have something like that with Yuri?

He expects fire, but instead Yuri gives him a chaste kiss. "You what?" He's breathless from their fit of laughter a moment ago, but his eyes are lidded as they focus on Otabek's mouth. It makes Otabek's stomach flip.

There are more pressing matters, so he mumbles, "Not important." And then they're back in that taxi, kissing and whispering all the filthy things they want to do, that they can do now. The weight of it is all-consuming.

Otabek's hands roam again, touching, squeezing, lingering in all the places that make Yuri sing and moan his name in that broken voice of his. _"Beka."_ Can someone get addicted to a sound this quickly? Perhaps it's too soon, but Otabek has been imagining what Yuri's voice would be like when he's wrecked for months now, even before their little game started.

So he takes his time trying to learn Yuri's body, his tongue mapping its way down Yuri's torso. He pays special attention to that mouth-watering V-line which has haunted his dreams ever since that first picture appeared on his phone. Yuri squirms and thrusts up—sensitive, he notes—so Otabek pushes Yuri's hips down with one of his arms to keep him in place as he licks that tantalizing outline. He knows what's underneath and can't wait to taste, taste, taste.

"Beka, come on! Stop teasing, fuuuck." 

Otabek wraps his lips around the head, leaving a wet patch on the fabric. Then lifts his gaze and is pleased to find his partner flushed. "Patience, Yura. We have all night."

Yuri groans above him. "Then, why don't we get the fucking started?"

"We have, though?"

Instead of replying, Yuri sits up, grabs the lube from the nightstand and puts it in Otabek's hand. He even pats the bottle. "Now we can start."

"But—"

"Beka, I swear."

Otabek just kneels there. "It'll help you relax, though …" He trails off as Yuri removes his underwear, throwing them to the side without a care in the world. They've seen each other in different states of undress throughout the months, but having the real Yuri here, with him, still hits Otabek like a sledgehammer. It prompts him to move again and pour some of the viscous liquid into his palm. They kiss before Otabek lowers his hand between his partner's legs. "Yura, you sure?"

Yuri gently takes a hold of his wrist and guides him lower, exactly where he wants Otabek to be. "I told you, I'm sure." Unlike a minute ago, his tone is soft. He takes a deep breath and pushes one of Otabek's fingers inside himself. Then, letting go, Yuri relaxes against the pillows, his hands grabbing onto Otabek's shoulders and squeezing. "You can move, by the way."

Sitting between Yuri's legs, Otabek does just that. It's mesmerizing to see, to feel, Yuri clenching around the single digit. The heat is a lot already, and when he asks for more, Otabek is straining against his underwear. When he adds a second finger, Otabek's free hand skims over Yuri's thigh, hip, stomach, until it reaches his cock. Otabek strokes him lazily, taking his time to get Yuri fully hard again, before finally tasting him, no clothes in the way. There are a few beads of pre-cum and he laps them up eagerly as he starts pumping the two fingers inside.

Almost immediately, a hand buries itself in the short strands of Otabek's hair, not pulling him away but not pushing him down either. Just keeping him in place. Keeping him close. Otabek glances up, and there's Yuri, chest rising and falling just a tad faster, gaze lidded and seemingly fighting off the desire to close his eyes, as if he were drinking in the image of Otabek on his knees pleasuring him.

So Otabek puts on a show.

Kissing and licking, he travels down Yuri's shaft slowly. He hums as he swallows the head briefly on his way up, massaging Yuri's balls just slightly. His partner moans and that's enough encouragement to keep teasing him, alternating between his cock and testicles for a while longer before sitting up again. Yuri groans and throws an arm over his eyes.

"You okay, Yura?" he asks with a smirk. It must've been noticeable in his tone because he gets a huff and a middle finger in return. He scissors his fingers for a second and, when Yuri seems to get used to the stretch, Otabek opens the bottle of lube again. He takes his fingers out, pours some more liquid and adds a third digit when he dives back inside. Slowly. He can't see his partner's eyes. "Talk to me," he whispers as he leans down, kissing Yuri's flushed cheeks and neck, until the other eventually lowers his arm.

Yuri inhales shakily. "Move faster?" Nodding against Yuri's neck, Otabek does what he's told as he nibbles the skin under his lips, pumping and stretching until Yuri's crying out for more. "Faster, deeper," he demands over and over again.

Otabek moves away from Yuri's neck, admiring the marks he left. "I've got you, Yura," he says and pecks Yuri before he removes his fingers. But despite how lost in pleasure he seemed to be a second ago, Yuri's faster. He sits up, grabbing Otabek by the shoulders and reversing their positions to sit on Otabek's lap.

"This needs to go," Yuri mutters under his breath and takes Otabek's boxers off quickly, as if he were offended. Knowing Yuri, maybe he actually was. He reaches for the condoms on the nightstand and tears one open with his teeth while stroking Otabek.

The whole scene gives him whiplash with how swift it is … it looks like Yuri knows _exactly_ what he's doing. He's captivated as his partner rolls the condom on and adds some more lube. _What is happening?_

Yuri is on his knees, straddling Otabek, hand on his cock and ready to take him, when he pauses. "What are you talking about? You know exactly what's happening, Beka."

Oh, he said that out loud? "Um ..." Eloquent as always. Instead of trying to sort through his thoughts now—an impossible task—Otabek takes charge again. He brings Yuri's hands down to his chest, lines up and starts pushing inside himself.

Yuri inhales sharply through his nose when the head breaches him, and Otabek stops. He's grateful, though. They both need time to adjust. If he thought the heat was a lot before, it's unbearable now. Despite the prep, Yuri is so, so tight, clenching around him already and he's barely inside. He squeezes Yuri's hip with his free hand. A silent question. His partner nods, and Otabek pushes in once more.

It's a slow dance.

Halfway in, though, Yuri takes over, raising himself up until only the tip remains before going down again, building a rhythm and taking more each time. His groans become louder, more drawn out, with each new brush of Otabek's cock inside him until he's moaning unabashedly.

"Ah, shit." All Otabek can do is hold on to Yuri for now. The wait is maddening. But he doesn't want to hurt his lover.

Yuri breathes deeply again as he descends, knocking, stealing, the air right out of Otabek's lungs. "Ugh, how is it _still_ not all the way in?"

Otabek laughs breathlessly. "Still a bit to go."

"Ah, fuck me."

"I'm trying."

Yuri rolls his eyes. "Of course you'd be the type to make horrible jokes in bed." But whatever smart-ass retort Otabek had on the tip of his tongue is thrown overboard when Yuri, with renewed determination, slams his hips down. His shoulders are hunched, head tilted toward his chest, and he adds, "Fucking finally."

It's overwhelming, being completely buried inside Yuri. All those months, pictures, fantasies … everything that led to this very moment. Otabek reaches forward, caressing his partner's cheek until he lifts his gaze. Otabek's hand moves further, tangling itself in Yuri's locks to bring his face down. There are a million thoughts running through his head, but he settles for the only constant. _"Yura."_ They meet in the middle and exchange sweet, intoxicating kisses until Yuri is squirming above him. So impatient.

He's always been like this, wanting more, wanting everything. And nothing stops him now because Yuri doesn't allow anything or anyone to ever limit him. In no time, the kisses grow hungrier. 

Hands begin to wander soft, heated skin. There's the tiniest drag where Otabek's calloused hands meet Yuri's perfection, but it's just right. The perfect friction. 

When Yuri rises up again, just a hint of a movement, it's enough to send every thought Otabek might have started to uncover from the depths of his brain back to the gutter. And this time, Yuri doesn't stop halfway. He rises up until they are only connected through sheer force of will and the strength in Yuri's thighs, before he drops himself all the way down. 

And Otabek should probably reprimand him, tell Yuri that this could break his cock if they aren't careful, even though there isn't even a bone in it, but—fuck, the vice—tight sensation along with the guttural sounds they both make ban any worries from his brain. It's simply too good to think. Yuri feels too good. It's too much in the best kind of way. 

Urgency carries both of them further down the road of tiny huffs and loud moans, pinched eyebrows and curled toes. Yuri's fingers dig into the muscles on Otabek's shoulders, but the pain is welcome. Without the distraction, he might have already filled the thin bit of latex separating them. 

At some point in the future, maybe, … maybe they won't need a divider between them anymore. But then how is Otabek supposed to live? He's already losing his mind about the sensations running up and down his spine. Without a condom …

He moans into Yuri's mouth at the thought and surprisingly enough, that seems to do it for him. "Fuck, Beka, yes. I want you so much. Fuck me!" Even now, even spared on his lover, Yuri barks orders. He's perfect. Better than perfect. 

"You want me to fuck you?" Otabek is closer to growling than talking, he's so fucking needy, and Yuri is everything he's ever wanted. It's almost unfair. How is he supposed to go back to pictures and videos when he knows what heaven and salvation feel like, wrapped around him like this? 

"Yes, please, Beka. Just fuck me." 

The fact that he begged proves how gone Yuri is. How much he needs Otabek. Which is convenient, since the feeling is mutual. Otabek pushes until Yuri gives in, falls over, lands on his back again and opens up like a flower in full bloom. 

"I love you." Otabek doesn't think about it until it's too late. Now, he's hovering over Yuri, about to be buried balls deep in the love of his life—if he's allowed. He swallows and pushes his tip forward. _Knock, knock, I love you._ It's weird. It's probably wrong. 

He would be ashamed of his words, slipping out as if they were always meant to be. But there's no room for guilt and embarrassment. Not when Yuri looks like this, with eyes wide and sparkling, mouth slightly agape so they can kiss. Or breathe. But Yuri chooses the former, steals the last bits of air in their lungs before he pulls back just to whisper, "I love you, too." He clenches around Otabek. "Say it again." 

"I love you." 

"Say it while you fuck me. Like you mean it." 

"I mean it."

"Then go ahead!" He's half whining, half begging still. A junkie for a drug they both hadn't known existed until just a few seconds ago. 

"I love you. I love you. I love you." 

And every thrust, every word pushes them further until they climb every mountain, swim every river, jump every cliff. An entire world between their bodies, an entire future in three words. And when they finally fall, all that matters is holding on tight. 

"I love you, too." 

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus:  
>  [ChocolateLimoon](https://twitter.com/LimoonChocolate) drew us the most perfect Otabek.
>
>> Thank you to our wonderful editor [Taedae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taedae/pseuds/Taedae), and to you as the reader.
>> 
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